Atonement
by sufinprincess
Summary: In order to atone for his sins, Sweden decides he must convert his neighbor to Christianity. [Swedish Crusades]


**This was meant to be a fic to celebrate 150 followers on tumblr. I didn't finish it until I had 184, but at least I finished it eventually. viikuu on tumblr mentioned this idea so you can thank them! Also, Österland is an old term for part of Finland. That part was the most populated during this time and also the area that the crusade mainly took place in. Hope you all like this!**

* * *

Sweden had met the nation who lived in this land before. He had called himself Suomi and then he and Sweden had appeared to be about the same age, fairly young and small both, although "Suomi" was assuredly the smaller one. They had not gotten on well, neither able to speak the others language. They parted semi-amicably, vaguely aware of whom the other was and simply accepting that they had finally met their neighbor. As a Viking (God save his soul and rid him of his sins), Sweden had continued to trade with the people in this land, but he had never seen the boy again.

Now, physically well into his teens, Sweden was a good Catholic and he had learned the true ways of God. But he soon realized something dreadful: his poor, uncivilized neighbor was a heathen. He could not entirely blame the boy who called himself Suomi. The boy had never been taught otherwise, never been offered the opportunity. His people's souls had been lost simply to carelessness of the ones who could help.

Sweden quickly came to the conclusion. It was his God-given duty to help this poor boy. He would atone for his sins by saving many others from theirs.

And so Sweden ended up in his neighbor's—he had decided to call him Österland; after all, he was east and that was a good name, better than Suomi—land, searching high and low for the boy himself.

There were many trees in Österland, Sweden soon came to realize. He attempted to use them to guide him, but this was not his home and the land knew that. Sweden was quickly turned around and lost. But he could tell the difference—before the land had simply not recognized him as part of it; now, the land realized who he was and the land was guiding him to the boy, the one who it was.

It wasn't long until Sweden was brought face to face with Österland. He squinted to see. The boy leered but stood his ground.

The poor, misguided boy. He still wore clumsily sewn furs, not even with discretion. Dirt was caked across his face and his hair was a mess, knotted and tangled. Sweden vaguely noted that it was brown. He remembered it being blond. Had his hair darkened over time? They certainly had gone a while without seeing each other. Österland bared his teeth, pulling his bow string and aiming an arrow, and Sweden knew what he meant. Österland believed that Sweden came with ill intent.

Sweden held up his cross to console him. It did nothing. Österland still glared. Sweden wondered if anyone had bothered to teach him the new phenomenon among nations. Somehow or another a language that nations could instinctively understand and speak had emerged. He had heard that it had always been around, but with so many sparse, weak, young nations instead of the old powerful empires, it had faded from view for a while. Sweden decided to make the attempt to speak to him.

"Do ya understand me?" he said calmly.

Österland scowled and made no response.

"Österland—"

"Are you calling me that?" said the boy. "We have met once before, have we not? I am Suomi."

"You are Österland," Sweden declared, enunciating every word as precisely as he could, unwilling to mumble at a time like this. He stepped forward and pushed the bow down. At first, Österland resisted and the bow remained in place, but Sweden's strength eventually overpowered him. The bow fell to the ground and Österland's arms fell limply to his sides.

Sweden repeated, "You are Österland. Suomi is the name of a heathen. I am here t'help ya."

Österland laughed, not in a joyful way.

"I see," he said before running off without another word.

* * *

The initial attempt unnerved Sweden; so much, in fact, that he returned home and stayed for about a century and that voyage's existence became doubtful. Nonetheless, Sweden eventually remembered his task and returned.

Österland was vicious. When Sweden was able to catch him, he bit and scratched with no apparent concern for pain caused. He rejected all ideas of renouncing his pagan roots. He did occasionally listen to the word of God and seem vaguely interested. Still, he refused to submit. "How could one God control all," he said, "when there are so many of _us_?"

Sweden didn't quite understand what he was getting at. Perhaps it made sense in Österland's unsophisticated mind.

The longer Sweden stayed, the more he saw Österland. At first, he believed this was due to Österland's lessening reluctance, but soon he realized that Österland would often appear to be injured. Blood would be splattered on his clothes, mud caked on his shoes, and combination of both smeared across his face. Sweden was never able to tell where his wounds were. Perhaps if he had been able, he would have helped Österland more. But even injured, the boy lashed out when Sweden tried to touch him.

This pattern, though, sparked something in Sweden. On the occasions that Österland didn't notice him immediately, Sweden was able to observe his neighbor for a short period of time. And he realized how _small_ this boy was. Physically, he couldn't have been more than twelve years. Even then, he had such a slight frame. He was evidently strong, but he was still a child. No child should have been fighting like that.

"Who did this ta ya?" Sweden asked once, wondering if Österland would even bother to respond.

"Novgorod," said Österland. Not full of spite, his voice was sweet and mellifluous, although a bit flat. It was nice, Sweden thought, and he wished to hear it more.

Sweden said, "God can save ya."

Österland stared him straight in the eyes—his eyes were brown, Sweden thought, the same color as his mother. Hadn't she been Österland's mother too? He couldn't remember anymore. Still, despite the austerity, Sweden thought they were lovely, warm, and gentle, so very different from his sharp green. "I have prayed to the gods," he said.

"There is one God," said Sweden.

Österland no longer laughed. He looked away.

* * *

Sometimes, Österland was more accepting of Sweden's presence. Sometimes, they spoke as almost friends, even though Sweden knew he was superior to this endangered soul.

It changed on the day that Österland allowed Sweden to enter after he had bathed.

"Yer blond," Sweden said.

Österland looked at him in surprise. "It gets dirty easily," he replied and what a sweet voice he had. What lovely eyes. What a sweet smile, laugh, even if he was laughing at Sweden.

Sweden looked at Österland, squinting harshly, his vision now deplorable. Clean, all injuries visible. Cuts, bruises, and scars. Recent. Novgorod had done this to him. Sweden held back a sigh of indignation. Had Österland just accepted God into his life, he would have been spared of this trouble.

"God can save ya," he told Österland. Österland stared blankly. Sweden said, "I can save ya. If ya accept God."

Österland reached out and took Sweden's hand. "I will listen. We shall see."


End file.
